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J&hcn pmi Sang 

Enb ®tber Souvenit ISoems 



BY 



LUCIUS PERRY HILLS 



ILLUSTRATED WITH PAINTINGS FROM LIFE 

BY 
VOLNEY ALLAN RICHARDSON 



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^lUeees Perry 'Hills- Author >)> 



AND 



NOTED PLATFORM READER. 



WHEN PATTI SANG 



BY 

LUCIUS PERRY HILLS 
ILLUSTRATED WITH PAINTINGS FROM LIFE 

BY 

VOLNEY ALLAN RICHARDSON 



Copyright 1904, by Lucius Perry Hills 



ATLANTA, GA. 

thp: franklin publishing HOUSE 

I904 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Twe Copies Received 

FEB 3 1904 

-\ Copyright Entry 
djUbr. Z~/qi4 
CLASS ^ XXc. No, 

' COPY 8 



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l H i, 



verses of "When Patti Sang " were 
:etched by Mr. Hills on the back of a pro- 
gram during the Patti Concert in DeGive's 
Grand Opera House, Atlanta, Ga., January nth, 
1894, an d were published at the time in a small 
edition of a little booklet, hurriedly illustrated, for 
private distribution among personal friends, by the 
great Singer and the Author. 

To this poem, newly illustrated with paintings 
by a noted artist, has now been added some new 
and appropriate matter, all of which has been put 
into form under the Author's personal supervision 
to be used by the Patti Management as a Souvenir 
during the remainder of the great Singer's tour of 
America. 

Atlanta, Ga., Feb. 1st, IQ04. 



*0 



y ^ 







To 

ADELINA PATTI, 

THE BARONESS CEDERSTROM, 

THIS LITTLE SOUVENIR IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

AS A FEEBLE TRIBUTE FROM THE AUTHOR 

TO THE INSPIRATION. 









ILLUSTRATIONS. 




Stage: of DeGive's Grand Opera 
House, Atlanta, Ga. 

Pen Drawing of the Author. 

Adelina Patti, the Baroness 

Cederstrom, in an Arbor 

at Craig-y-nos. 

" Home, Sweet Home." 

" Suwanee River." 

44 Coming Through the Rye." 

" IvAST Rose of Summer " 

The Poet's Firelight Fancies. 

A Dream of Song. 

Craig-y-nos Castle. Path's Home 
in Wal.es. 

In a Box at the Patti Concert. 



iii 



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In an Arbor at Craig-v-nos. 







'T'fJPHEN Patti sang I sat entranced 'mid the 

enraptured throng, 

And listened to the music of that old, familiar 
song, 
Till from each isle and continent where weary 

pilgrims roam, 
I heard glad voices echoing the strains of "Home, 
Sweet Home." 




u o ' ' 




"Home, Sweet Home.' 




And when she sang another song, I seemed to 

hear the flow 
Of Suwanee's placid waters, touched with the 

sunset's glow; 
And the south wind softly singing to the cypress 

and the pine, 
Filled the grand old forest arches with a melody 

divine. 





"Suwanee River." 







<■& 



Then suddenly I thought I heard, amid the 

rustling grain, 
A tender voice repeat the old, old story once 

again ; 
While the sound of lovers' kisses floated out upon 

the air, 
And all the world seemed brighter still for Patti's 

singing there. 












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Coming Through the Rye;, 







Then I saw the withered rose leaves fall quivering 
to the ground, 

And angels must have listened to the low and 
plaintive sound 

That came drifting, drifting to me, and fell upon 
my ears 

Like snow-flakes turned to music, and then melt- 
ing into tears. 





Last Rose of Summer." 




And all the while sweet harmonies crept down 

into my heart, 
And nestled in a home from which they never can 

depart ; 
For as life's ever changing tides of joy and sorrow 

roll, 
The memory of her voice will still keep singing in 

my soul. 




'6TV 




The Poet's Firelight Fancies. 










And when at last life's evening shadows across my 

pathway fall, 
And pictures of the past grow dim on memory's 

crumbling wall, 
That one fond recollection will its brightness still 

retain, 
For I shall dream I hear her sing those dear old 

songs again. 





A Dream of Song. 



T\\z Srmg-!3iril tff Cratg-g-ntfs. 



TjT I might wander on a summer's day 

In that sweet vale where she is wont to rest, 
And lift my eyes up to the mountain's crest, 
Watching the cloud-born shadows as they play 
Among the crags awhile, then drift away 

Through seas of sunshine o'er the valley's breast, 
Pausing to lightly kiss the song-bird's nest, 
Amid the groves where Muses love to stray, — 

I there would gather every whispered note 
Of purling water, and of sighing breeze, 

And catch each trill that quivers in the throat 
Of every feathered songster of the trees, 

Then pluck a pinion from an eagle's wing, 

And write a song fit for her lips to sing. 




Craig-y-nos Castle, Patti's Home in Wales. 




The Poet at the Path Concert. 



(Dnr Faxjeuttll t0 Vnttx. 



FHAT was a glorious night when first your song 
Moved our responsive hearts to smiles and tears, 
Leaving its echo to be borne along 

Mid joys and sorrows of the passing years; 

Till kindly Fate has brought you back again, 

That we may hear your matchless song once more, 

And keep the memory of its sweet refrain 
Still singing to us in one long encore. 

And if some woodland chorus now could sing 
The farewell song our hearts indite to thee, 

Each purling brook would hush its murmuring, 
And listen to the plaintive melody. 

But since we here our final leave must take, 

Our lips can only whisper our adieu, 
Henceforth, for us our mocking-birds can wake 

No sweeter song than memories of you. 



Tht S0ng-%ffs*. 



,NE summer's eve the God of Music chose 
To wed fair Beauty to his tuneful Art, 
And so he sought the rarest, queenliest Rose, 
And breathed soft melodies into its heart. 

That night Love came and kissed the Song-Rose there, 
While sweet perfume filled all the leafy bowers, 

Like music softly floating on the air, 

For fragrance is the love-song of the flowers. 



^sSfc** 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

HMHL 

015 939 034 2 J| 



